


Coffee

by npeg



Series: 2 + 2 Equals [2]
Category: Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-18
Updated: 2012-10-18
Packaged: 2017-11-16 13:43:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/540068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/npeg/pseuds/npeg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One more moment, in a vast collection of moments, when Steve Rogers and Tony Stark wonder whether there might be something different about their friendship after all.</p><p>- "Mature" for language (tut tut Tony)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coffee

“ _God damn son of a bitch mother_ fucking _-!”_

Steam and smoke curl in the air and the machine in front of him gurgles unhappily, sparking and crackling, red light flashing, and black sludge oozes from various crevices. There is half-brewed coffee and ground bean splatter everywhere.

Tony is swearing, loudly and colourfully.

He looks down at himself in disbelief; his arms spread wide, hands and arms dripping black liquid, and huffs in exasperation.

“I just put these fucking jeans on _ten minutes ago_ , and _this t-shirt is Armani_!” he whines, “I mean- God _damn it_ I look like a Jackson _fucking_ Pollock- **_JARVIS_**?”

He shakes his hands, sending droplets of coffee spraying across the work top, as he regards the smoking wreckage of the espresso machine in front of him.

“Good morning, sir,” JARVIS intones gently over the intercom.

Tony raises his eyebrows to the ceiling and snatches up a damp cloth from the sink. He pats at his clothes with it.

The stains don’t come out.

Frustrated, Tony snaps, tone clipped, “Don’t “Good morning, sir” _me_ , JARVIS, this fucking mess does _not_ count as a “good” morning. Who the _fuck_ has been using the espresso machine _this_ time?!” 

The AI makes a noise not unlike someone clearing their throat.

“I imagine it was Thor, sir. He still hasn’t quite managed to operate it without…” and the AI pauses, finding the right word, “… _casualities_.”

Tony makes an angry sound and flings the cloth back into the sink.

“I could have guessed,” he growls.

“Should I have the cleaning staff remove the machine and tidy up, sir? And perhaps lay out a new t-shirt?” JARVIS asks.

Tony shoots a dark look at the machine, “I can find my own t-shirt, JARVIS, Jesus, I’m not a child. No, just, call Happy. Get him to bring me two double espressos; save the second one for later. I’ll want it in an hour or two.”

He pulls at his ruined t-shirt, the previously pristine white now a mess of beige and brown spatter marks. He winces at the tender skin underneath when he presses his hand to it, overwarm beneath his fingers.

He sighs.

“Great, _that’s_ a burn.”

He looks at his arms and notes splotches of red also peppering his hands and forearms, though they hurt less than his stomach. But only just.

He fishes the cloth back out of the sink and runs it under cold water to wash away the coffee, then wraps it round a handful of ice promptly dispensed by the icemaker and presses it to the red skin of his stomach, sighing at the sensation.

He eyes the coffee mess irritably.

“Hey, JARVIS? Find me a replacement machine by this afternoon, will you? If it isn’t sitting in that exact spot by 2pm I swear to God I will kill something. Or someone. Probably Thor, seeing as this is his fault…” he mutters, “Blundering idiot.”

“Sir,” JARVIS replies, complying.

Tony shoots one last disgruntled look at the hissing wreck of the espresso machine, and dismisses it with a wave of his hand. It’s too early to be fixing domestic appliances, and too boring for that matter, hardly worth his attention. They’re so primitive. Why fix them when they can just be replaced?

 

Makeshift compress cool against his burn, Tony exits the kitchen, bare feet scuffing the tiles.

He clumsily peels off his ruined t-shirt with one hand – _and let’s face it, it_ is _ruined, because regardless of what the commercials say, coffee stains never really come out, he’s had enough to know_ – and he scrunches it up in his hand, agitatedly muttering to himself about technologically-incompetent Asgardian wrecking ball _squatters_.

A door further down the hall ahead of him opens and closes, and Tony hears footsteps approaching. In a moment, a familiar blonde and outrageously ( _indecently_ even) well-built figure appears round the corner, still groggy from sleep.

Steve yawns, “Morning, Tony.”

Tony merely waves the hand holding his t-shirt in mute response and trudges past him.

Steve blinks, rubbing sleep from his eye.

“Hey, what’s with the…” he trails off, blinking.

Then he motions at the billionaire, brow furrowed.

“You’re, uh, you’re… half-naked.”

“So observant”, Tony grumbles quietly to himself.

Steve scratches his head, clearly not quite awake yet.

“Remind me why you’re half naked?”

His back still to the captain, Tony sighs in exasperation, shoulders heaving overdramatically.

He turns on his heel, and flicks out the t-shirt in his hand to showcase the damage, like a Toreador with a red flag. His icepack drips on the floor as its contents begin to melt.

“ _This_ is why I do _not_ approve of Thor being given free run of the house,” Tony growls.

He turns to the ceiling and points an accusing finger.

“ _My_ house, JARVIS, _my_ house! Next time? _Stop_ him before he destroys one of the only things I truly love and need in this world! _You hear me?!_ ”

Tony throws the t-shirt across one shoulder, grumbling, “Fucking thunder god owes me a new coffee machine,” and absent-mindedly wipes his free hand down the flat of his stomach where the scalding liquid soaked through, skin now cool and damp from the compress, some tiny beads of water still clinging to it. The burn itches under his fingers.

“You see here?” Tony points to the red blotches dappled across his skin, “I actually got _burned_. Look, _look_ at the burn!”

And he looks up to find Steve is indeed looking at the burn, intently. Very intently.

Rather _too_ intently, in fact.

Tony’s eyes flick from his stomach, to Steve staring at it, and bizarrely he feels flustered, nervous almost. He waves his free hand in front of Steve’s gaze, breaking it.

“Steve? Eyes up here buddy.”

Steve’s head snaps up and he blinks a few times, as if coming out of a daze. 

“Sorry, what?”

Tony laughs, “Burn’s not that interesting, Cap, we’re not talking degrees here. I’ll live, promise.”

Again, Steve blinks once, twice, and then suddenly shakes his head.

“Oh,” he fumbles, with a strange little laugh, “Sorry, I, uh, I’m not really awake yet, so I’m a little- I mean I just got up and, uh…”

And he pauses, “Wait, actually, what are _you_ doing up? Isn’t it-”

He checks his watch, and gives Tony a puzzled look.

“Tony, it’s 6:23am. Why the hell are you even awake?”

Tony shrugs, feeling vaguely uncomfortable at his half-nakedness all of a sudden, very aware now of his lack of clothing. He smiles a little quirk of a smile.

“Oh I just, uh, woke up,” he shrugs. Then he crosses his arms over his chest, trying to cover more of himself, strangely self-conscious.

He continues vaguely, “I just woke up. Stuff on my mind, y’know. The usual.”

Steve scratches the back of his head again, nodding.

“No, no, I get it. I know the feeling.”

The two men stand a few paces apart, not quite making eye contact.

Tony finally realises that the captain is wearing shorts. Very _short_ shorts.

He drags his eyes upward, not without some _considerable_ effort on his part, and, hoping Steve didn’t notice his wandering eyes, brings his hands together and says, drawn out, “ _So_ …”

“So,” Steve smiles, “Well, um, I’m gonna go grab a coffee, you want one?”

Tony raises an eyebrow and pats the ruined shirt slung over his shoulder to remind him of the situation.

“Ah,” Steve slumps.

“Yeah, “ah” exactly. No espresso machine. Espresso machine go boom. Plus,” he gestures at his torso, “No shirt. And, unsurprisingly? This icepack is making me kinda cold.”

The captain rubs his chin, “Y’know, I can put a pot on, if you still want that coffee?”

“Uh, yeah, sure, why not?” Tony replies, not sure why he hadn't thought of that first, and Steve smiles again, turning toward the kitchen.

“You gonna be in the lab?” the captain asks over his shoulder, and when Tony nods, he says, “Great, I’ll bring it down.”

Tony watches him jog down the hall to the kitchen – _and really, who jogs at this Godforsaken time of day?_ – and he realises that he’s staring at the way the fabric of Steve’s own white t-shirt clings to his shoulder blades, the curve of his back, the muscle of his arms...

He shakes himself, confused, and scrubs a hand roughly over his face.

“Okay, _that_ was weird,” he mutters out loud.

Tony turns and begins to make his way back to the lab.

Steve’s voice comes floating down the hallway, “You take your coffee black, right?”

“Yeah, and no sugar,” Tony calls back.

He recalls Steve staring at him and runs his fingers over the fading red scald mark on his stomach.

“Pervy old man,” he mutters, sloping off towards his lab. 


End file.
